


domesticity

by Edgebug



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Jim is smitten, M/M, Morning Routines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgebug/pseuds/Edgebug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim really does love watching Oswald getting ready in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	domesticity

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted fluffy, plotless, domestic Oswald/Jim. there are no redeeming qualities to this drabble and i am Trash. I'm sorry

When Oswald wakes up in the morning he is all soft words and rounded edges. He blinks sleepily against the morning light filtering in through Jim’s blinds; he yawns and stretches luxuriously, back arching against the sheets, says _good morning_ in a quiet, sleep-rasped voice when Jim kisses him on the temple.

“Sleep good?” Jim asks.

Oswald nods, propping himself up into a sitting position and blinking again a few times, trying to rid the sleep fog from his brain until he catches sight of himself in the mirror across Jim’s bedroom. “Ugh,” he groans theatrically. “My hair is a _mess_.”

“Your hair is _always_ a mess,” Jim says on a quiet laugh, reaching out and affectionately running a hand through Oswald’s hair, which sticks up in all directions like gravity has no effect, then slides his arm around Oswald’s waist and rests his chin on his shoulder.

“My hair is _not_ always a _mess,”_ Oswald huffs, “and besides, what would you know about hairstyling, Mr. Buzz-cut?”

“All right, all right. Not a mess,” he concedes, a fond smile playing on his lips. Oswald's hair is positively _fluffy_ when there's no product in it, and he's too adorable to argue with, to be honest.

Oswald smiles triumphantly and gives Jim a quick kiss, as if rewarding him for his good behavior. _I’m in so, so far over my head with him,_ Jim thinks, and can’t bring himself to care. “All right. Let me up from this bed, you heathen. I have places to go," Oswald says with mock annoyance.

Jim grumbles but does untangle himself from Oswald nevertheless. “Where the hell have you got to _go?_ It’s _Saturday,”_ he complains.

“I have a meeting,” he replies airily with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Very quick. No worries. I’ll be right back.” He stands and starts off toward the bathroom; Jim notices with some relief that his leg doesn't seem to be hurting him as much today. Good leg days are few and far between, and today his limp is less pronounced. “I’m going to take a shower. Care to join me?”

Jim is up from the bed and at Oswald's side faster than you can say _flightless bird._

 

-

 

Jim really does love watching Oswald's morning routine. Jim lingers in the bathroom after he's done getting dressed himself just so that he can watch Oswald and keep him company. Oswald has quick clever fingers that quickly and cleverly knot his tie and apply his eyeliner and tie his shoes; he moves with practiced precision, and it's somehow charming to Jim. Most things about Oswald are charming to Jim.

He's in his shirt and waistcoat and pants and he's got a kohl pencil held delicately in his fingers; he's leaning across the counter toward the mirror and applying it expertly to his lower lash line. "The thing about eyeliner is that it looks good in all stages of its life," he says, pulling back from the mirror for a moment. "See, look at it now. Crisp, clean, new." He gives a bright smile. "And later today it will be smudged and will have traveled halfway down my face, most likely. And it will _still_ look good. To look perfectly beautiful in all stages of dishevelment is my permanent aim," he says, setting the pencil back down on the counter.

That's the most pretentious thing Jim's ever heard. _God_ , he loves his boyfriend. "Uh-huh," he says with a fond smile.

Oswald moves on to his hair and spends ten solid minutes perfecting it into the exact shape he wants. Jim thinks it looks silly, but it makes Oswald happy, so it's fine by him. Besides, Jim will have every glorious, golden opportunity to fuck it up later--to run his fingers through it and muss it all to hell. Oswald looks in the mirror one final time. "Yes, all right. This is acceptable," he says, mostly to himself, before he straightens up and shrugs on his coat.

"What are you standing there staring for? You look like a lovestruck puppy," he says, obviously amused. "Get out of the doorway, Jim, I have to go."

"Well, you're not far off on the lovestruck thing," Jim says, but does slide out of the doorway to let Oswald pass by. He follows Oswald to the front door, trailing after him like a loyal dog. "When will you be back?"

"I told you. Soon."

"And then I can take you for breakfast?"

Oswald winces. "Not _that_ soon. Lunch?"

"I said I'd swing by the station around lunchtime," Jim sighs, "there's some paperwork I have to deal with and Harvey wants company when he goes to check out a lead he's got--so how about dinner? And a movie?"

A bright grin. "A proper date? Done!" he enthuses, and tips his face up to give John a quick kiss goodbye (he gets the strangest feeling that, again, he's being rewarded for good behavior).

"Be careful, all right? Doing whatever you're doing out there," Jim mumbles, lightly gripping Oswald's lapels, all levity gone from the moment. "Just be careful."

"I will. I promise. Don't get shot," Oswald replies, serious as a heart attack, his perpetual smile nowhere to be found. Then he takes a deep breath and it returns. "See you tonight. Call me!"

Then he worms out of Jim's grasp and disappears out the door, and Jim is alone again, but not for long.

**Author's Note:**

> (sometimes I draw things about everyone's favorite Bird Hair and Soft Policeman. my art blog is sketchbuggy.tumblr.com)


End file.
